
A 
DESIGNER 



^ 



DAWNS 

AND 
OTHER TALES 



o 



GERTRUDE 

RUSSELL 

LEWIS 





Class ic) 'SS^S 
Copyright ]^'^_ J. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



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A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 
AND OTHER TALES 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 
AND OTHER TALES 



Little Stories of the 
Here and There 



BY 

GERTRUDE RUSSELL LEWIS 




THE PILGRIM PRESS 

BOSTON CHICAGO 






Copyright 1917 
By GERTRUDE R. LEWIS 



/ 



NOV -9 1917 



THE PILGRIM PRESS 
BOSTON 



© CI. A 4 7 9 .1 5 



1. 1. 1. 
mxit 

All iig i'lyimtta (itt^a 



CONTENTS 



The Little Old Woman Goes There 

The Heaven of Mothers' Dreams 

The Hall of Waiting . 

In the Crown Room. . 

In the Counting Room. 

The Potter of Nazareth 

A Designer of Dawns . 



PAGE 

3 
II 

23 
31 

37 
51 
65 



THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN GOES 
THERE 



THE LITTLE OLD IVOMAN GOES 
THERE 



THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN WAS 
very ill. They told her to put her trust 
in God. "Has it come to that?" cried 
the little old woman. And she worried for 
fear she would be lost. "Oh dear," she 
sighed, "I haven't believed half enough, or 
done half enough. I know I shall be lost." 
And she died. When she came to herself, 
verily all was dark save the figure that 
awaited her. That was dark too, but with a 
certain sinister glow that made the black suit 
look as though a red lining showed through 
at intervals. "Just as I expected," she 
thought. 

But he looked her over and said, "I'll at- 
tend to you presently. I've some others to see 
to first; stay here till I come back." 

He did not stand squarely and as he moved 

3 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

restlessly away he stepped with a curious syn- 
copated effect. "Isn't it a pity he didn't learn 
to toe the mark when he was young," thought 
the little old woman. "Now he never can." 

As the little old woman got her breath, she 
looked about her and heard sighs and tears 
and saw dreadful things. 

Near her a poor soul begged for water. 
"Oh dear!" sighed the little old woman, "If 
I am so dreadfully thirsty myself, already, 
what must she be? Oh dear! I am so dry! I 
wish I had a drink." And as she spoke, at 
her hand appeared a cup of water. She 
looked at it curiously, for it was a little old 
stone-china cup of her mother's that she 
had left at the pump for passing tramps ; it had 
been broken long ago. She took it up and car- 
ried it to the sufferer; then another and 
another claimed her attention and so she 
passed, picking her way over the baked earth, 
dodging little flaming crevices that appeared 
unexpectedly. More and more painfully she 

4 



THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN GOES THERE 

moved. "Oh dear!" she sighed, "Why didn't 
they put on my shoes? My feet burn so, and 
my stockings are all in holes, so soon. And 
they've buried me in my best black gown and 
it's charred to my knees already — if they only 
had thought to put in an apron. Oh, how 
thirsty I am!" But she held an empty cup 
in her hand. "If I had only one more swal- 
low for that poor wretch over there." And 
she looked regretfully into the cup. 

"Take this," said a voice at her side. She 
turned and met the gaze of a great Shining 
One, bearing a crystal goblet. "Drink," he 
said. "It is the Water of Life." 

"But I dare not touch that," said the little 
old woman, conscious of her dishevelled state. 
"That is for the white-robed, and my best 
gown is in holes and my neckerchief is gone, 
and they forgot to put on my new cap." 

"Drink," repeated the Shining One. 

"If you could spare me a drop for that poor 
thing over there," said the little old woman 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

tentatively. And with that she dipped her 
cracked cup deep into the crystal goblet and 
trotted away. Back and forth she went, fill- 
ing her cup again and again, taking the near- 
est and the next in a most methodical manner. 
She eased this one, and relieved that one, and 
soon began to feel quite neighborly and at 
home. The Shining One watched her with 
reminiscent delight. He could scarcely keep 
pace with her. He was beginning to feel 
jaded and she was having a beautiful time 
when the Old Boy appeared again. 

When he saw what she was doing his 
lining showed through horridly. "You 
wicked old woman," he cried, "to take ad- 
vantage of me when my back is turned! 
What do you mean by bringing your old cup 
of cold water in here? You just let me get 
hold of you, once." 

"I think he looks feverish," said the little 
old woman. "If I could give him a drop 
o' water — " 



THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN GOES THERE 

"You have no business to prospect my 
claim,", howled the Old Boy again. "Now 
I've lost this great piece of property." 

The old woman shrank. It seemed to her 
as if all the scareful dreams of her childhood 
threatened to come true in a minute. 

"Oh, dear! Do you think he has come 
for me?" 

"He cannot touch you," said the Shining 
One. "He cannot come into Paradise." 

"But this is Hell," said the little old 
woman. 

At this assertion the Old Boy moved a bit 
closer. "Just you wait," he cried. 

"You are lame." She wetted a bandage. 
"You're on your feet too much. Just let me 
see a minute, perhaps I can" — but he was 
off. 

The little old woman looked about to see 
who might next need her. The plot where 
they stood seemed rather rough, like un- 
broken ground in a new country. She 

7 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

dropped her cup, but as she stooped to re- 
cover it a little brook rose from it, a shim- 
mering rivulet fringed with daffodils. 
Beyond w^ere green fields and lilies, blue 
heavens and singing birds. 

"Just like my Easter card," she thought. 

She reached up and settled her best new 
cap. The Shining One smiled. He always 
enjoyed the new ones, and now — 

"This is better," said the little old woman. 



THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' 
DREAMS 



THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' 
DREAMS 



THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN 
looked abroad. A change hovered over 
the field of her vision, — the unkempt, 
unfinished acres of the Reclamation. Mists 
fell and lifted; mists that might once have 
been clouds of tears but that now were shin- 
ing, fruitful dews, each with its tiny bow of 
promise here fulfilled. Before her eyes a 
group of rough and broken tree trunks 
melted and refined into a cluster of fair 
birches. 

"Oh, did you see that?" cried the little 
old woman. "Do you know that first bunch 
looked exactly like the trees my son cut for 
old Mrs. Ainfield the night he was going by 
to the Grange and stopped and found that 
she was near perishing with cold." 

The Shining One smiled down at her in 

II 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

his gentle, whimsical way. She was so 
natural. 

"I do love birches," continued the little 
old woman. "He put 'em in — ^" 

She discovered a flock of downy sheep 
feeding hard by. 

"Once my son found a lamb with a broken 
leg, abandoned by the drover. The boys 
were for killing it outright, but he brought it 
home and it thrived wonderful well. This 
is strange. There is so much here that I 
almost think I know about. What is Para- 
dise?" 

"Many things; Paradise is fruition, Para- 
dise is fulfilled hopes and answered prayers." 
And the Shining One added with meaning, 
"Paradise is largely made of Mothers' 
Dreams." 

"Ah," cried the little woman, radiant in 
an instant. "Why then — but how could you 
know?" I 

As in a flash, but without sense of motion, 

12 



THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS 

the little woman saw herself once more upon 
earth. A sparrow, chirping in its flight, was 
struck down and a lifeless bunch of feathers 
fell to the ground. In the same breath she 
was again at the side of the Shining One and 
he was smoothing and stroking a tiny bird. 
Then he placed it gently on a bough, where 
it balanced with his aid as if bewildered for 
a moment, but presently flew away in a rap- 
ture of melody. The little woman felt as if 
the scene were in some way familiar to her. 

"Ohl — I know now" — she exclaimed, 
" 'Not a sparrow — not a sparrow' — but I 
didn't think it meant just common, ordinary 
sparrows" — and she turned again to the 
landscape. 

"It is his great picture," she cried. 

Across an intervale of Spring's prophetic 
green gleamed sunlight on an open sea; a 
play of light and shade caught in the un- 
dulations of tall grasses newly grown, and 
near at hand a little eager brook rippled out 

13 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

into the great wide water world beyond; a 
little brook with daffodils upon its banks; 
the little woman stopped and gathered 
some. 

"Little woman, do you remember how am- 
bitious you were for the boy, and how you 
worked and struggled and imbued him with 
your own spirit; how he toiled and hoped 
and poured out his very soul?" 

"And failed," faltered the little woman, 
but the gladness was in her voice still. 

"And do you remember the fine, firm face 
when he said, 'Mother, it was never meant 
to be. I shall only spoil a good house- 
painter, for that I am, and the world surely 
needs good house-painters.' And do you re- 
member how he turned his canvas to the 
wall and went forth as a journeyman and 
painted honestly, the best he could? And so 
he took better care of his mother as a well- 
paid artisan than he could as an inferior 
artist. And he did not let her see his dis- 

14 



THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS 

appointment, nor did she show him her 
grief, though it lay between them all their 
lives." 

"I was willing to do anything to have him 
keep on," said the little woman. "His father 
died when he was such a little bit of a 
fellow." 

"I am glad he did not let you. It takes a 
fine courage to give up," replied the Shining 
One, gravely. "Heaven is a growth, and 
when the Debatable Ground was redeemed, 
you know in what manner, his great land- 
scape was made real, not in fading colors on 
perishable canvas, but in this lovely heavenly 
vista. The Raphaels, the Miltons, the 
Beethovens did their noble work upon earth. 
Here, too, they have their honored place. 
But here, too, the mute inglorious poet sings, 
to the music of the unknown symphonist. 
The New Heavens and the New Earth must 
somehow be made. I think God left this 
on purpose for your son." 

15 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

"Maybe He wanted it here all the time!" 
She cheered up greatly. "Musicians too; — 
then I expect Mary Ainfield is in the choir. 
She loved to sing, but she never could have 
any lessons. Perhaps we wouldn't mind so 
much any of the time if we knew more 
about it" 

"Or trusted more," suggested the Shining 
One. 

"It's so wonderful." Then she added, 
"But the boy doesn't know. Oh — I wish I 
were back again to tell him!" 

"I am afraid that would spoil it. Why 
not keep it for a surprise?" suggested the 
Shining One. 

"A surprise? I'd love that. When he was 
a little boy I had to turn every way to make 
a birthday for him. I always managed 
somehow. Do you mind if I tell you? 
Once I made little sacks of flour and 
fastened them on a card, and the little mice 
were of glossy brown apple seeds sewed on, 

i6 



THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS 

and there was real flour coming out of the 
sack where one had nibbled through. Then 
we made a story out of it, and that was all 
he had." 

"Then why not help him with this and 
save it up for him?" 

The little woman was all energy at once. 
She looked at her daffodils. 

"I've that much toward it," she said. 

Again the mists swerved lightly and two 
Others stood beside the Shining One. 
"What now?" said he. 

"We are helping a man, faithful to his 
task upon earth, to the fulfilment of his 
heart's desire," said a friendly voice, — the 
voice of one who had been the master artist 
of the ages; a man so great of soul that he 
could stop upon his burdened way to match 
a bit of ribbon for a child. 

"But he is just a common painter, work- 
ing on a scaffold," said the little woman, 
drawing a little nearer to her Shining One. 

17 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

"I once painted a ceiling from a scaffold,"' 
said the Other Shining One. "That Sistine 
gave me a crick that I remember to this day." 
He moved his head up and down reminis- 
cently. "Just now the man is painting under 
a cornice where the weather is hurting the 
eaves. It doesn't show and many will think 
it is a waste of time, but see what it will do 
for him here." 

And away from the birches fell their 
shadows, lying light upon the grass in 
luminous verisimilitude. 

"Fine," said the third One, whose immor- 
tal name was Giotto, smiling. "I could 
never get that effect. My shadows were 
always as hard as the rocks that cast them." 

A shaft of sunlight fell upon the sea, a 
bright reflection of a golden deed on earth. 
They all went on, the Shining Ones pointing 
out to her, here and there, the growing 
beauty of the living scene. 

"These young artists want to get every- 
i8 



THE HEAVEN OF MOTHERS' DREAMS 

thing into their pictures," said he who 
matched the ribbon, indulgently. 

"I think most of us dread coming here 
most because we are afraid we will have to 
stop doing things," said the little woman to 
her Shining One. "Do they know who my 
son is?" she added wistfully. 

''Yes, they know and they approve; his 
name is set with theirs in brotherhood; for 
it is at the willing hands of Michelangelo 
himself, that your boy's dream of beauty 
awaits him as a bit of heaven." 

"I like it," said the little woman. 

The Shining One put out a hand — and 
dropped it. 

"She is not quite ready yet," he thought. 

"I wish his father were here." Her heart 
leaped back some five and thirty years; and 
then for the first time she looked up and full 
into the kind, quiet, familiar face of the 
Shining One and knew him for her Own. 



19 



THE HALL OF WAITING 



THE HALL OF WAITING 



A BENT OLD GARDENER STOOD 
at last erect, to find himself beyond 
the Death-gate, at the vestibule of the 
Hall of Waiting. How he came there he 
may not say, but as one sees all things 
through the lens of experience it seemed to 
him like the receiving room of a florist's 
warehouse. All his life-work had been based 
upon the promise of the seed, 

A butterfly alighted upon his sleeve and in 
contemplation he passed his finger-tips across 
its wing. It flew away again, untarnished. 
He glanced thoughtfully at his hands ; they 
were firm and vigorous but strangely soft 
and pliant now, capable of the most delicate 
manipulation. How often, when on earth, 
had he refrained from touching his favorite 
blooms because his hands were gnarled from 

23 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

working in the earth about their roots, in 
the faithful ministration that had made their 
lovely blossoms possible. He had always 
longed to work among orchids, under glass. 
But he was only a market gardener, making 
food for the people, and raising for his own 
delight those hardier flowers that endure the 
open. Even to the dandelion he would say, 
"You're bright, and funny, but you're too 
selfish. If you hadn't such a deep-rooted 
aversion to letting other plants grow, it's 
right pretty you could be." 

Now he felt as a moth, newly freed from 
its chrysalis. 

Passing to and fro about him were folk 
carrying strange and curious plant growths, 
each encased within its shell. 

The Gardener was interested and drew 
near to ask about them. 

'^What are these strange seeds?" 

"These are souls," said One, turning 
pleasantly. "They have lived and blossomed 

24 



THE HALL OF WAITING 

in their way, and have been garnered. Here 
they come to us to await their ultimate per- 
fecting. But that you will perceive as you 
look about." 

And as the Gardener stood before a little 
wicket, through it was passed a salver on 
which lay many varieties of these unfamiliar 
objects. Gently those who served took up 
the delicate things. The little ones were 
signed, according to a token that came with 
them, and laid away in their tiny cases 
jeweled with hopes and prayers and many 
fond desires. 

The Gardener lifted one tenderly. "Then 
it will have its life? It was not lost?" 

"Its 'life'? Life is not 'lost'! Then were 
it not 'life.' " 

"I would like to see the little plant de- 
velop," said the Gardener wistfully. 

"You will. That is part of it all." 

The larger bulbs required discrimination, 
and their peculiarities were examined 

25 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

closely. Some, worn and hard without, were 
beautiful within. Some were rich with 
fragrance. Others, smooth and polished out- 
wardly, were void and filled with dark de- 
cay. And one, that he laid aside with a sigh, 
seemed to emit a tremulous flame that played 
above it for a moment, and was gone. Yet 
even that one he did not put quite away. 

All of the souls lay within receptacles pre- 
pared for them by owners upon earth; — 
cases made of beliefs and unbeliefs, super- 
stitions, traditions, religions; sheaths rough 
with neglect, begrimed with ill, or bright 
with wholesome thought and feeling. Some 
were so loose that the soul grew large 
and spongy and lost its texture. Some 
were so close and cramped that the poor 
soul could not expand at all, and well-nigh 
smothered under its own spiritual bondage. 
The one in charge cared less for them. 

"I fear they are light weight," he said. 
"Too many of those saints were of the kind 

26 



THE HALL OF AVAITING 

that devoted their lives to their own spiritual 
interests alone, and spent their time and all 
their strength furbishing up their own souls 
with futile ceremonial, the while their fel- 
lows needed them." 

But they were few who satisfied their 
higher longings wholly with observances. 
With most the soul, too, had acquired finish. 
There were many silvery souls. 

The souls of old people were of the choic- 
est, for life had polished away all the accre- 
tion of vain experiment and left them with 
the richness of experience and freshness of 
the untried. They were easily made ready 
for their resting places. 

And so it was that He Who had this Care 
conserved each particle that he could. 
Sometimes he looked long, and again, upon 
an unhappy object, cutting unsparingly; sav- 
ing the least portion that had promise of 
life. Sometimes the Gardener's heart was 
wrung to see how little might be kept, 

27 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

though the appearance promised greatly. 
He, too, had cherished each possibility in 
his wayward roses and had, sometimes, to 
see them wither; helpless to renew their 
lives. It was all kind, but it seemed inexor- 
able, too. 

"And are our souls so incomplete?" 

"They are as we make them." 

Then suddenly the Gardener stretched out 
his firm and vigorous hands, soft and pliant, 
now, and he cried — "Give me that soul to 
nourish — I must help." 

And He Who had this Care said, heartily, 
"This you surely may. And when their 
Time of Waiting has gone by, bring them to 
their development, even as you were brought 
but now." 



28 



IN THE CROWN ROOM 



IN THE CROWN ROOM 



EYOND THE HALL OF WAIT- 

ing was the Crown Room. There was 
no wall behind the rows of compart- 
ments within which were placed the cases 
with the labeled souls. So, passing about 
and through an archway, one who had newly 
come and still was strange, turned upon the 
reverse of this screen and found himself in 
a marvellous workshop. It was filled with 
crowns and crowns, of every sort and shape. 
And there, he watched the fashioning of the 
crowns for their respective owners. Down 
from the shelves were lifted the little cases, 
the names upon them were read and the 
jewels suited to them were allotted. 

So remarkable were the crowns that the 
visitor was perplexed. 

"How may this one be worn?" he queried, 

31 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

taking up an imposing structure. It was a 
golden frontispiece of Library, Theological 
Seminary and Chapel. "How can he keep 
it on?" And in a vision he beheld the arisen 
owner, with one hand or the other, forever 
holding his crown upon his aristocratic head. 

"I do not know," said the maker, "I can 
find no golden band for it in his case. The 
golden bands are of kind deeds, the little 
goodnesses and charities, and he does not seem 
to have many." With evidence of deep re- 
gard the custodian took from its place a 
heavy band of fine workmanship. "Here is 
its very opposite, a crown quite unassuming. 
It would take a lifetime to study all of the 
detail. You can imagine the character of 
the designer." 

One crown, most beautiful, was perfectly 
plain, a small rich band with two exquisite, 
matched jewels. So rare and so fine was it 
that it made the architectural crown seem 
tawdry. 

32 



IN THE CROWN ROOM 

"For the mother of the Wesleys," observed 
the custodian quietly. There were rows of 
pearls, jeweled crowns, and plain heavy 
bands. These last were crowns of duty and 
courage, often worn by those who for them 
had sacrificed all opportunity to win the 
more elaborate coronets. There were high 
spectacular mitres of very thin gold to match 
the saint cases he had seen before. 

"Here is a diadem blazing with jewels, 
but this plain gold band with the one great 
stone made it possible, and is equally honor- 
able." 

"It looks as if men made their own 
crowns, too," said he who had newly come. 

"It seems very like it," was the response. 
"A little practice in wearing one's halo upon 
earth might save much embarrassment later." 



33 



IN THE COUNTING ROOM 



IN THE COUNTING ROOM 



AN ACCOUNTANT HAD OFTEN 
wondered how things were figured out 
in the great Clearing House. 
He had seen strange sights in the bank 
that he had served both long and loyally. 
Some of them were hard to look upon. He 
remembered the Receiving Teller, the man 
who had given him his opportunity. And 
how, after years of perfect confidence be- 
tween them, a certain uneasiness had crept 
into their relationship. The deposit slips 
came to the accountant and he duly entered 
them. They were correct in form and he 
could not tell when that lurking, horrid fear 
came upon him, came, yet told him naught, 
though it sent him home, night after night, 
to battle for his sleep, exhausted by terror 
for his friend. Until one day two men, 

37 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

Strangers, had come in. They said few 
words. The Teller had wheeled with a 
gasp, it seemed almost of relief, but that he 
had turned so white. And as he passed none 
looked upon him to see his misery; though 
to more than one man the tears came frankly 
as the Teller closed the door, irrevocably, 
behind him. Theft was proved upon the 
Teller. The man "higher up" was on a 
cruise in the Mediterranean. 

There were other days when it seemed to 
the Accountant as if he had been go-between 
to much that was unseemly. Over and over 
again a little cobbler, his hands broken with 
toil, drew his last dollar, pieced it out with 
a bill from his pay envelope, eked that out 
with a few odd silver coins in a leather bag, 
and met his payment. And the Accountant 
had heard Fairlygood, the party of the sec- 
ond part, say, as he stripped the silver 
wrapper from his cigar and snapped the 
jeweled match box, "I didn't think the little 

38 



IN THE COUNTING ROOM 

beggar would make it this time. I wouldn't 
mind taking over that lot. It's next my mill, 
you know. Of course the house doesn't cut 
any figure, anyway." But after years of 
struggle the foreclosure came and the little 
cobbler lost his home. The standing of Mr. 
Fairlygood in the community remained irre- 
proachable. 

There were better days; many square and 
honorable days. But it was these hard days 
that the Accountant wondered about. These 
were the problems which, ever to the last 
developing new factors, remained to the end 
unsolvable. 

And then he had laid his pen upon the 
blotter and gone Home. 

It was then, because one sees all things 
through the lens of experience, that the Ac- 
countant found himself in the Counting 
House of Life and Death. In it busy folk 
made out, from files of papers, vouchers 
which indicated the status and equipment of 

39 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

the various souls. For an account was 
opened with each man at his first voluntary 
act, and was closed upon the day of his 
death. And after that it was made up and 
a clear statement entered in a Journal. This 
Journal is, by name, the Book of Deeds; and 
in the making of this Book the Accountant 
saw the only semblance of arbitrary judg- 
ment in the Hall of the Balances of Good 
and Evil. The Accountant looked upon the 
scene and marked the Keepers of the Books. 
Some of the data entered were peculiar 
and on the face of them inconsequential. 
Some were of a problematical nature, as 
when, for instance, several motives were in- 
dicated. Often a close comparison of divers 
accounts was necessary to an adjustment; for 
to each soul was given his own in exactitude. 
Sometimes it became a case of proportion. 
As in the Hall of Waiting, all that was pos- 
sible was accredited. It was with amaze- 
ment that he saw at once how much and how 

40 



IN THE COUNTING ROOM 

little remained available, as factor after fac- 
tor was struck from the record and the equa- 
tion reduced to terms of permanency. 

The vital object of many a good-enough 
man's life is his business. To not a few^ the 
very word "success" means the shekel for the 
shekel's sake. In this place, the values lying 
not in "how much" but "how gained," it was 
humiliating to see the showy fortunes shrink. 
And under this test the shifty device of seek- 
ing salvation through gift made no differ- 
ence. For, as in the early days an imperiled 
fortune might be saved by gift to Caesar, so 
later on the Christian, doubtful of his right 
to certain gains, thought that he might insure 
them by gifts to the Deity. It was a vain 
imagining. 

The Accountant stopped and looked upon 
the Book. An entry newly made appeared 
upon its pages. 

It is not given that a man should look 
upon his friend's judgment or know his 

41 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

neighbor's record. Only of those who have 
aided or injured him may he know their 
special blessing or discomfiture, that he may 
have assurance of the Eternal Justice. 

The story of the unhappy Teller came to 
his remembrance. And as it did so, one who 
seemed to be in authority came and laid an 
affectionate hand upon the Accountant, and 
greeted him. 

"Jimmy! I have never forgotten your 
face, boy, when I left the bank." It was the 
Teller. There was much to say. They were 
so engaged when the Man Higher Up, he 
who had been the Teller's downfall, passing, 
swerved as he saw them, and came to them. 
He spoke pleasantly, but there was an un- 
speakable sadness in his voice, as he dropped 
his head on the shoulder of the Teller. 
What ancient history, what story of repara- 
tion lay in that gesture it was not given the 
Accountant to know. But they stood for a 
moment with clasped hands; and he who 

42 



IN .THE COUNTING ROOM 

had been the Man Higher Up moved away 
with a friendly final word to them. 

The Teller turned with tears in his eyes. 

''This has pulled hard on him. Oh, 
Jimmy! if people could only realize that the 
hurt of sin is that you have to wait so long 
before you can make it right! — He will get 
his release soon now." There was quiet pride 
in the Teller's voice. "I sign it. The Al- 
mighty has let me be Keeper of His books." 

"You have tears in your eyes." 

"It is a great comfort to be able to shed 
tears, Jimmy. There is healing in tears. I 
used to wish for them. I never thought 
there could be an adjustment of the old 
man's account. But thank God there is, and 
here the tears shall be wiped away forever, 
Jimmy. Forever! And the little man whose 
mortgage was foreclosed — ^wait till you see 
him! He had to take care of Fairlygood 
until we could arrange for him. It stings to 
have to accept your relief from the man you 

43 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

have injured, but it did him a heaven of 
good." 

They turned again to the book. 

The deposit slip read: Credit Rufus 
Fairlygood 

Cash to hungry child $o.io 

To Hospital $100,000.00 

The entry in the book read quite differ- 
ently. The Accountant was perplexed. The 
ten had become five. 

"You see," said One Who held the Book, 
"Fairlygood did but give the child the 
smallest piece of money he had about him, 
with naught of effort to relieve the lad, or to 
help him to his betterment. Yet he could 
have passed without making any gift, there- 
fore he is credited with a half. If he had 
earned the hundred thousand by honest 
work, leaving the world an hundred thou- 
sand to the good thereby, he would have 
been the gainer by the full amount. But 

44 



IN THE COUNTING ROOM 

Mr. Fairlygood's hundred thousand does not 
analyze well, and ends in a settlement quite 
foreign to his anticipation. For I must 
make the entry as it stands corrected." And 
to the Accountant's eye the characters ap- 
peared after the order familiar to his calling. 

Credit Hospital Fund $100,000.00 

Debit; the Cobbler's fore- 
closure 3,500.00 

Patent wrung from hun- 
gry and discouraged 
genius 20,000.00 

Home that should have 
been given the over- 
worked father 5,000.00 

Underpaid employees 50,000.00 

Monument and advertising 10,000.00 



$98,500.00 
Net credit to effort and 

good will $1,500.00 

45 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

"You see it does not show very well for 
him." And He who held the Book shook a 
wise head, sadly. 

"But to the others?" queried he who had 
been an Accountant. 

"To the cobbler and the overworked it 
will be accredited in such proportion as they 
had it in their hearts to do for others, had 
they controlled the means. Some of the rich 
give poorly; some of the poor give richly. 
Sometimes he who has known poverty, com- 
ing to affluence forgets the companions of 
his sufferings, and that is saddest of all." 

"The hospital was on the crown of Mr. 
Fairlygood?" 

"Truly. For Fairlygood enjoyed building 
the hospital. He was an average man and 
few there are, thank God, who are utterly 
hard. If he but balanced an uneasy con- 
science he does not profit, and the blow is 
keen when he audits his own account, as 
every man must in this place. But he was 

46 



IN THE COUNTING ROOM • 

glad about the mitigated suffering, and it 
saved his heart from barrenness. And none 
more than he regrets the lack of little kind- 
nesses whose absence makes his crown un- 
wearable." The speaker smiled sadly. "He 
is not alone. How many who are capable 
of great heroism fall before the little daily 
irritations. How many try to make spas- 
modic effort take place of patient continu- 
ance." 

"And the two hundred rolls Mrs. Fairly- 
good ordered the cook to make for the Hos- 
pital Fair?" 

He who held the Book lifted a smiling 
face. He turned a page. 

"The cook was tired, and it was more 
than should have been required of her. She 
did the unfair task cheerfully and the credit 
of the rolls goes to Mary Ann." 



47 



THE POTTER OF NAZARETH 



THE POTTER OF NAZARETH 



JERUSALEM HAD FALLEN AND 
the land lay waste and desolate. But the 
birth and death were there and all that 
lies between, with daily needs of food and 
shelter and covering. 

Little children came and watched the vil- 
lage potter at his task. He told them many 
things. He had never been in the Holy 
City, but his father's father, following the 
family calling, each year had taken down 
the plain brown earthenware, to offer in the 
marketplace. And so he told them how 
once when Herod was returning from Rome, 
the grandfather had stood afar and seen the 
flash of arms, and heard the sound of brazen 
trumpets. "And," — they all drew near, 
"once in the marketplace, the grandfather 
had met one of the kitchen slaves of the 
palace, who bought of him a great jar, in 

51 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

which to store the snows of Lebanon, used 
to cool the wines for the feasts. And there, 
as he delivered it, the grandfather had seen 
a Nubian slave, a very important servant, 
passing with a wondrous cratera in which the 
wine would be mixed. Never before had he 
seen a vase, for the vase pertained to the 
royalty of his calling, the finer arts of his 
trade. He was never weary of describing 
the beautiful, flower-like 'calyx bowl.' " 

The family no longer made the great jars. 
There was now no surplus of oil or wine or 
olives to be stored; barely the meal and the 
herbs for the daily pottage of their meagre 
fare. But as the children hung about him, 
the potter told them of the great brass laver 
of the Temple; and made them each a tiny 
cup, and then, rejoicing, they ran home to 
show their treasures. 

Nothing ever came to pass in Nazareth : 
only great stillness and a waiting. They 
hardly knew for what. The ancient ob- 

52 



THE POTTER OF NAZARETH 

servances were lost. It was unaccountable; 
except to those who knew the Way. 

For many years a holy teacher had grown 
up in Nazareth. His followers had hoped 
for a successor to David. He spoke of 
kingdoms not of this world; kingdoms be- 
yond the power of Rome. He was curiously 
fearless in a day of bated breath. He had 
said, ''Render unto Caesar," as if it was but 
one of the many passing obligations. When 
ceremonial observance was most servile he 
had said, "The kingdom of heaven is within 
you." If that were so, then the place 
whereon they stood must be holy ground, 
and men still could worship, though the 
temple of their fathers lay in ruins. 

And they gathered quietly on the new 
strange Sabbath, no longer the hallowed 
seventh, but the first day of the week. So 
it was certain that the Laws of Moses must 
have been fulfilled, or broken, by their 
Master. Thus the faith had come to the 

53 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

potter. And with it the new rule of service, 
that made whoever was in need, even a 
Samaritan, a brother. 

Then had come one John, and told them 
of this new Jerusalem; and of this same 
Jesus whom he had seen with his own eyes 
changed to the promised Christ, — upon the 
Mount of Transfiguration. The "Son of 
God" frightened the potter. He could bet- 
ter understand the kindly carpenter. But 
of course all that was long ago. And John 
the Leonine had gone on, leaving to them 
visions of might and glory, principalities 
and powers, and of endless hosts singing 
mighty Hallelujahs, unforgetable. 

So the feast of Herod with its breathless 
prodigality, the gorgeous Temple worship, 
with its stately ministrants and brilliant 
ritual, were to be but a village festival com- 
pared to the everlasting celebration of the 
Christ, the Lord of Lords and King of 
Kings. 

54 



THE POTTER OF NAZARETH 

The potter wished he might have seen 
Jesus in his humbler days. His mother had 
known Mary and loved her as a friend. 
For himself, the little potter had no wish 
to strive after greatness. He was surely 
more at home in Nazareth than in the 
crystal courts divine. He must be loyal 
where he was; for he could only follow 
from afar the fading footprints of Him 
who, he had come to be persuaded, was 
the Everlasting Son of God. 

Meantime there were his aging father and 
mother and the children of his brother to 
provide for: his wares were very plain and 
brought but a few farthings at best. He 
lived; he toiled; he loved and suffered. 

And so he passed; to wake again in ra- 
diant Paradise. 

He found his steps along familiar paths, 
and came at turn of road, to where, across 
the vale, all glowing in an opalescent morn, 
he saw the golden City of his dreams and 

55 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

dread, the holy City of the apocalypse, even 
as John had said. Surely one must be very 
great to enter there. He was not disap- 
pointed. It could not be otherwise. Even 
earthly kings were always high and far 
away. Why then should he aspire where 
only Saints and Angels could prevail? 

Beautiful musics were in the air; now 
here, now there he heard them. They 
sounded in different keys and varied 
rhythms. But like the sounds in nature they 
did not intrude: you heard it only as you 
chose to be receptive to it. 

And as he gazed, across the plain a fan- 
fare of silver trumpets called; and distant 
voices sang: '^Lift up your heads, O ye 
gates; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting 
doors; and the King of Glory shall come 
in." 

It was very beautiful. His heart swelled; 
but it did not occur to him to draw near 
to it. The earthly Jesus had, after all, been 

56 



THE POTTER OF NAZARETH 

of the lineage of David, while his plain 
folk — no, only those skilled in silver and 
fine brass could be of service here. 

Little children came about him. And 
presently he was busy with them, quite con- 
tent. And he made for them cunning little 
cups. While he sat with them, there came 
a messenger to say that he was desired to 
come up before the Lord. He hesitated, 
distressed. 

"I fear you do not know me. I bring 
no worthy gift, that I should come before 
the Lord. I am only a potter, and there 
is naught here that I could do to serve my 
King. I shall be greatly content if after 
many ages I sometime may stand afar and 
watch Him, as He goes up within the golden 
gates." 

But, even as he spoke they had turned to 
walk across the intervale; and though the 
road did not shorten, nor their steps seem 
hurried, in the instant they were at the 

^1 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

gates. They entered, and presently were in 
one of the mighty palaces John had de- 
scribed in his visions of the glorious Here- 
after. 

There were many there, and they looked 
upon him, smiling. 

He felt welcomed. He looked up. But 
there was no king upon a golden throne. "I 
must wait," he thought, "until He comes in 
stately ceremonial, to take His royal place: 
that I may make to Him my obeisance." 

He became aware of someone standing 
close beside him, and the kindest voice he 
had ever heard spoke in his native tongue. 

'^ou are the potter of Nazareth? I wish 
that you would make for me a little brown 
cup, like that which stood on the shelf at 
the door of my Mother, Mary. There 
stood a large brown jar, filled with cool 
water from the village well. And on the 
shelf the jar of salt, and one of spices for 
the pottage, and a little one to drink from 

58 



THE POTTER OF NAZARETH 

when one thirsted in the untempered sun. 
I would like to drink again from a little 
earthen cup from Nazareth." 

The potter sank down, bewildered, upon 
the marble bench. But he saw that smiling 
faces were looking into his, and that no one 
was afraid. 

"It is our Father's house," the voice con- 
tinued, "and you must see the widow's cruse, 
the alabaster box, and all the treasures you 
will so enjoy. My friend Palissy will some 
time come, and Ninsei of Kioto. You may 
help them to work out their dreams. But 
find your wheel and I will come in and 
stand beside it as I watched your grand- 
father when I was a boy in Nazareth." 

There arose a sound of many voices sing- 
ing: "Glory and honor, might and power"; 
and a multitude of the heavenly host swept 
by in ordered ranks, a stately pageant. But 
the potter was no longer bewildered. 

The kind voice spoke again. "See how 

59 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

the palms float backward as if along the 
rim of a great amphora. That is my John. 
He dearly loves a procession," smiling. "Do 
not forget my little cup." 

"Glory and honor, might and power!" 
An ineffable light encompassed the Christ, 
and He was gone. It was John's heaven 
as he had spoken it. 

But a little potter sat beside his wheel : 
and as he took up a handful of clay, he 
also, sang. 

It was his heaven, too. 



60 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS ' 



JENNIE WAS THE THIRD GIRL. 
Mary had to have the new things, be- 
cause nothing made over was large 
enough for her. When they were out- 
grown, they went to Ann. When both 
outgrown and faded, they came to Jennie. 
And Jennie loved color, with an instinct 
as exquisite and discriminating as that of 
Watteau; which of course she could not 
know. The farm was poor, and the father, 
an amiable if detached parent, was not 
a good manager. "It doesn't pay to plant 
cabbages when you can get a head like this 
for five cents," he said. His wife acquiesced, 
though she would have preferred to plant 
the five cents worth of seed and reap a 
handful of nickels such as she saw in the 
palm of her neighbor as he made change. 
Came then a man with a book of pictures 

'Reprinted by courtesy of The Craftsman. 

63 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

of such things as never grew on sea or land : 
tomatoes, like the apples of Hesperides; 
celery, all bleached and tied in bunches; 
currants, like cherries; cherries, like plums. 

"Not a penny down. We plant and leave 
the trees and bushes ready to be cultivated. 
Of course as a matter of good faith you will 
sign this contract to carry out your share of 
the deal, but it won't require a dollar of 
capital, and in three years you'll be on Easy 
street." 

It was so. In three years he was on the 
broad and easy road to the County Farm. 
For there was no intent of growth in the 
trees — ^^they preferred to bloom in the cata- 
logue; and the contract amounted to a mort- 
gage. At least the result was the same to 
both parties interested. Whereupon the 
father died as the simplest way out of an em- 
barrassing situation, the mother struggled 
along, and the children came up any way. 

Jane somehow learned the use of the 

64 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

needle and helped her neighbors at seventy- 
five cents a day. They all wore brown 
gingham and blue calico, with black and 
white for mourning. So did Jane. Jane 
saved samples of all the dresses she made. 
It was very hard to make them dififerent. 
Once Jane would have had a white dress. 
It started with Mary and got as far as Ann. 
Poor Ann died and they ungrudgingly 
buried her in it. But the high-water of 
color in the little hamlet was the pink sun- 
bonnet. 

When the Judge's daughter was married, 
Jane did the underwear and thus acquired 
some pretty weaves in white dimity. The 
Judge's daughter had also a blue print dress 
and a pink one, and Jane made them and 
saved a sample of each. The Judge's wife 
just swept up the rest of the pieces and put 
them in an ordinary rag bag, like common 
calico. 

Years slipped by, and Jane had a fall. 

65 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

The result was a broken hip, and Jane had 
to go to the County Farm. And then Jane 
took to quilts. The county supplied the 
material. It clothed its women in brown 
and white gingham in winter, and blue and 
white calico in summer. Some of the checks 
were large and some were small, but the 
blue was never light blue. Sometimes, not 
often, there were stripes. In chapel she 
heard of saints all clothed in white. "It 
must be lovely," she thought, "if it wasn't 
for the laundering." 

And Jane, little and old and bent, patted 
out her blocks and arranged and re-arranged 
them, trying interminably to get variety out 
of the invariable. 

"If I only had some light patches!" The 
words voiced her sole wish in life, and she 
left blank spaces, hoping. Sometimes she 
took out her two samples of pink and blue, 
and laid them in the openings. But she did 
not sew them fast, for she had no others; 

66 



A DESIGNER OF DAWNS 

and it is well not to court the irrevocable. 
Moreover she dimly felt the lack of har- 
mony. There was no spirit of compromise 
in those poorhouse colorings. 

At last she became very ill, and the chap- 
lain came and ministered to her. She did 
not respond until he read to her about the 
saints arrayed in robes of white. Then she 
said something, and he asked her to repeat it. 

"It would be— lovely— but I'd rather have 
a — pink one — or a — blue one. I'd like — 
'em — different." 

"What!" said the chaplain. But he told 
his wife and she understood. 

And so did the Angel of the Resurrection. 

"Pink or blue," he mused; "poor, unob- 
trusive soul — all her drab and dreary life 
she has longed for color. Now she shall 
have it,— a sky full of it every morning." 
Then he took her by the hand. 

"Jane, my sister, how would you like to 
be a Designer of Dawns?" 

67 



